


Vote!

by Ismira_Daugene



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Labyrinth (1986), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/M, Ficlets, Fluff, Gen, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, Opinion, Romance, Shorts, Vampires, WIP, Werewolves, What should I write next?, You decide!, dramione - Freeform, vote
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ismira_Daugene/pseuds/Ismira_Daugene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, so here's the deal.  I found a bunch of unfinished works in progress in a folder on my computer and was going through them thinking, "Wow, I wish the author would finish these!".  Well the author is me... so, I'm letting you decide!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Option 1

**Author's Note:**

> Voting is finished!
> 
> Yes I know I said that I would take it down on the first, but I've been having internet issues. In fact, I'm writing all of this on my cell phone right now. Anyway, thank you to everyone who voted! The results and as you can see, options 2 and 6 tied. So I will be doing both! I'm doing option 6 first because I already have more written for it and I kind of have an idea of where I'm going with it. Option 2 will be next followed by option 7. I might make a few others into one-shots though.
> 
> Have patience with me. I'll be writing as fast as I can. I still have another week before school starts back up. Don't expect everything to done and out before then though. I'll probably be doing weekly updates. The first will hopefully be up on Tuesday (1/7/14). I'll leave the rest of the chapters up so that the reviews stay and for people to read.
> 
> THE FINAL COUNT (1/5/14)  
> (For option 6: w=werewolf v=vampire x=undecided)
> 
> 1: xx  
> 2: xxxxxxx  
> 3: xxxxx  
> 4: xxx  
> 5: xx  
> 6: wwwwxxv  
> 7: xxxx  
> 8: xx  
> 9: xxx  
> 10: xxx  
> 11: x  
> 12: xxx

"That is disgusting," Sergeant Donovan said upon entering the crime scene and seeing Sherlock Holmes crouched over the victim. However it wasn't his position in relation to the victim that she was proclaiming to be disgusting. No, it was the fact that Sherlock had just licked the victim's hand.

"Nobody asked your opinion, Sergeant," Sherlock responded. "I'm done here," he said standing and moving to the exit.

"Wait, did you find anything?" Detective Inspector Lestrade asked rushing after the tall dark haired man.

"Yep."

"Anything you're going to share?"

"Nope."

"Sherlock," Lestrade deadpanned. "I will send out another team for a drugs bust."

This stopped Sherlock short and the consulting detective whirled on the silver haired DI. "I will tell you my conclusions once I have made them, Lestrade. Until then, I would ask that you refrain from cluttering my flat with idiots. I need time to think."

Lestrade's face didn't change; he still held the same stern expression, however his voice was back to normal if not a little more annoyed. "Fine, but I expect you to contact me within the next twenty four hours."

Sherlock didn't say anything, but gave a small nod of his head before rushing off to grab a cab back to Baker Street. When he arrived, he didn't pause one second before rushing in the door, up the stairs, and into the living area, his coat and scarf landing on a chair somewhere in between. His usual thinking position on the sofa wasn't appealing at the moment; he was too keyed up. The murders were getting worse, more violent. Worst of all, there was now no doubt in Sherlock's mind that they were being preformed by an anarchist werewolf clan.

Sherlock let out a frustrated growl before plopping down in the same chair his coat and scarf lay in. However he didn't remain still, his legs continued to jump and his heels tapped out a staccato beat on the hardwood floor. He fished his phone out from his pocket then. He needed John. Sherlock had discovered over the past several months that John's presence was conducive to thinking. He wasn't quite sure why, and planned on running several tests to figure it out, but at the moment there was a case. His fingers flew over the keys as he tapped out a message to come back home immediately. He'd sent his flatmate out to investigate a lead. Nothing that Sherlock needed to see for himself, but that he needed to know nonetheless. A low chime announced John's answer.

_Be there soon. –JW_

_Don't forget to pick up milk. – SH_

_Already done. – JW_

Sherlock jumped up and marched into the kitchen, opening the fridge door. There sitting on the shelf were two quarts of milk. Sherlock was impressed. It was only last night that he'd used the last of the previous quart in an experiment. John walked in then. "I found them," he said, a grin on his face.

Sherlock shut the door of the fridge and rushed over to John who was starting to pull off his jacket. However Sherlock prevented it by zipping his flatmate back up then pulling on his own coat and scarf before pulling John back out the door. "Where?"

"Just south of Canary Wharf."

They were more than half way to Canary Wharf before John spoke again. "Why are we going to the den of a pack of rather vicious werewolves?"

"Don't you see, John?"

"No, I don't, and you're doing the thing with your face again."

Sherlock scoffed, but proceeded to explain. "We need to infiltrate the pack."

"And just how do you plan to do that?"

"By becoming a werewolf, how else?"

John came to an abrupt halt. Sherlock only took a few paces more before realizing that his flatmate wasn't with him anymore. "John?"

"No. You did not just say that you are going to intentionally become a werewolf."

"It's the only way to get into their inner circle, John. That and can you imagine the experiments I could run once I am one? There's so much werewolves keep to themselves."

"No, Sherlock."

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh. "There's little you can do to stop me."

"I could call Mycroft."

"But you won't."

"Are you so sure?"

Sherlock looked John up and down. The man wasn't lying. "John," he whined.

"No, Sherlock. I won't let you do that to yourself."

"I need to though! There's no other way that I can see of catching the murderers."

John grimaced. He agreed that the pack needed to be stopped, but he knew of a different way. It wasn't exactly a good way, but it was preferable to what Sherlock wanted to do. "You don't need to become a werewolf, Sherlock."

"John…"

"You don't need to become one because I already am one," John cut him off quickly.

This statement halted Sherlock in his tracks. He stared wide-eyed at John as though seeing him for the first time. However it didn't take long for the surprise to pass. "No you're not."

John simply laughed at this. "I'd think I'd know if I'm a werewolf, Sherlock."

"But you don't exhibit any of the symptoms!"

"What, like aggressive behavior? Ravenous appetites? A preference for red meat? Howling at the moon? Not all of us are ruled by our wolf nature, Sherlock."

Sherlock continued to stare at him for a second more before marching over to John and around behind him. John knew what Sherlock would be looking for and tipped his head forward while loosening his jacket so the collar could be pulled down a bit. Sherlock's cold fingers gently traced along the tattoo printed along the base of John's neck. It was a series of letters and numbers and despite the fact that they were in a spot that John couldn't see he knew them by heart.

**743RL6C5**

The identity tag had been inked when he'd been seven years old and had first transformed into a werewolf after being bitten in the leg by what at the time he'd thought was a stray dog. The government had given him a number and he'd been required to attend a different school. He'd been given a prescription to help him control the 'beast' as others had called it. However during his time in the army, he'd gone off the pills. The army preferred their wolves to be more vicious, to not stop to think about the fact that they were killing fathers, sons, mothers, daughters, and ripping families apart. John's job in the army had been to act as a medic to the other wolves. He'd been trained in both human and werewolf biology, so that when his unit was injured, they wouldn't have to risk a human doctor with angry wolves.

Present day John shivered as Sherlock's pale cool hands fingered the identity tag. "But this is old, you must have first turned when you were ten years old," Sherlock murmured.

"Seven actually," John corrected. Sherlock continued to run his fingers over the tattoo. "Um, Sherlock, could we do this somewhere besides the middle of the walk?"

Sherlock's fingers disappeared and John pulled his coat back into place. The strange look on Sherlock's face, as though he no longer knew who John was did not disappear though. John sighed and pulled Sherlock along until they came to a small coffee shop. He chose a table outside away from the crowd and ordered tea for himself and Sherlock when a waiter came to ask. "Sherlock?" John tried to engage the consulting detective.

"How could I not have noticed? Tell me John, how could I have missed something like this?"

"I've never broadcasted the fact that I'm a werewolf." Sherlock sent him a glare. "Fine! I deliberately hid it from you."

"Why?"

"Why? Why would I hide the fact that I'm a werewolf? Oh I don't know, prejudices, so you wouldn't do experiments on me, the fact that your older brother practically runs the government, take your pick."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, staring at his untouched tea. "I would never do anything without your consent," he murmured. "And have I ever shown prejudice, of any kind? As for Mycroft… I'm sure he already knows," he scoffed.

"No, I suppose you never have shown prejudice. At least not towards werewolves," John said after a moment before taking a sip of tea. They were quiet for a long time, long enough for John to finish his tea as well as a biscuit or two. "So what now?" John finally asked.

"We figure out a way to pin evidence on the pack and catch them."

"That much is obvious, Sherlock. I meant am I going under cover in the pack?"

"Absolutely not!" Sherlock looked up sharply from his now cold tea.

John's eyes widened in surprise. "Why not? It makes the most sense."

"It's too dangerous."

"Oh, but it wasn't when you were going to turn yourself into a werewolf?" Sherlock waved a dismissive hand as though to say there was no way any of them could outsmart him. John groaned and leaned back in his chair. "Sherlock, while I'm sure you're smarter than the lot of them, it would be an entire pack against you, a lone newborn pup. They'd have much more control over their wolf forms, control that you wouldn't have until at least two years after being bitten. Not to mention that you don't know pack etiquette."

"Fine! Fine, John, you don't need to keep pointing out the flaws in my plan, but you will not be taking my place."

"Sherlock, like you said, there's little you could do to stop me. It's the best idea we have and if I'm careful, it'll work."

Sherlock glared across the table at John before giving in with an exasperated huff. "Fine, but we plan this down to the letter before you go in!"


	2. Option 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Option #2: Johnlock pairing eventually, and a casefic

"Bored!" Sherlock Holmes' baritone voice echoed into the kitchen where his flatmate Dr. John Watson was putting away groceries.

"You could always help me?" the doctor suggested. Sherlock didn't even bother with a verbal response and instead let out a scoff. "Just a suggestion…" John shrugged and went back to placing tins of beans in the cupboard. It was only a few minutes later that he finished and after making a cup of tea, settled down in his usual chair with his laptop. He took a sip of the soothing tea and let out a grumble of pleasure as he relaxed back into the worn leather. Finally, he set the cup down on the table nearby and opened his laptop to begin tapping out his latest blog entry. He and Sherlock had just completed a rather simple case involving a Blue-faced Leicester (a breed of sheep), a locked room, and a cheese Danish. Sherlock had taken no more than fifteen minutes to completely solve the case and expose the farmer's mistress as the culprit.

John, as usual, had claimed the sleuth's deductions as brilliant and they'd been off back to London where Sherlock had proceeded to collapse elegantly onto the sofa. He hadn't moved from the piece of furniture since. "BORED!" Sherlock shouted again.

John sighed and looked up from his typing. "Have you looked through the paper? The website? Texted Lestrade?"

"No, yes, and I'm not that desperate yet."

"Hmm, no, but you're getting there," John mumbled, going back to his typing. "You know, there's that experiment with the acid and oranges lying on the table. You could finish that so that it can be cleared away."

"Can't, I need to let the oranges soak for another two days minimum," he grumbled before turning on to his side so that he could better see his blond flatmate. "You're not seriously typing up our latest excursion?"

"Yes, yes I am. Problem?"

"It was so dull! Nobody will want to read that tripe!"

"Well then I suggest you go about finding a more interesting case so that people will want to read about it."

"Make me a cup of tea."

"Make it yourself."

"Jaaawwwwwnnn!" Sherlock whined.

John gave Sherlock a glare over the top of his laptop before wordlessly setting the machine down and walking into the kitchen. "This is the last time, Sherlock. I'm not your manservant." Sherlock let out a non-committal grunt. "Milk and sugar?" Another grunt answered.

John scowled, but moved toward the fridge anyway. Just as he was about to pull the door open, Sherlock called out, "Make sure you don't use the cups on the drying rack!"

John pulled the door of the fridge open, the question of 'why' on his tongue, but all was forgotten when a deafening blast filled the kitchen. The fridge door blasted out and off of it's hinges landing on John as it pushed the man to the floor. Sherlock was on his feet in an instant, the blanket from the back of the sofa in his hands. Flames from the explosion burned steady on pieces of cupboard and other debris, along with John's jumper. Sherlock threw the blanket over John, patting out the flames quickly. Police sirens could be heard down the street, but Sherlock paid them no mind. He was busy trying to find a pulse…. and there it was, a weak flutter under his fingertips. "John," he whispered softly, letting his fingers fall from the blond man's neck and move up to brush the small bits of debris from his hair. The tromping of boots on the stairwell along with panicked shouts from the street didn't register, only John's blank face… his preternaturally still face.

: : : : :

Beep… Beep… Beep…

The steady monotonous tone was the first thing John heard upon reaching the first bit of consciousness he'd had in hours. He didn't have to puzzle long to figure out what it is, seeing as it's a common sound he hears nearly every day at work. The question is, why is he hearing a heart monitor? Did Sherlock hook him up to one while he was asleep? Is he running some sort of experiment on the resting heart rate? John let this idea fizzle out… that experiment seemed much too dull for Sherlock's standards.

The beeping picked up pace a little as he rose to consciousness. "John?" Sherlock's voice sounded from nearby.

"Mmm," John grumbled, struggling to open his eyes. They seemed weighted down, as though someone had attached lead to them.

"John, I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered quietly.

Now John was thoroughly confused. Sherlock never apologized. What was going on? It was then that John managed to pry his eyelids open. The cream colored walls of a private hospital room greeted him. Why was he in the hospital? He turned his head, grimacing as a dull ache seared through his skull. Sherlock was sitting in one of those uncomfortable looking plastic chairs that line bedsides in every hospital. His elbows were propped up on his knees and his hands were folded together under his chin as he hunched forward. "What are you talking about, Sherlock?" John's voice cracked from disuse.

Sherlock's eyes swept down John's body lying prone under the thin hospital blankets. His expression is one that John's seen a hundred times if he's seen it once. It's one that says, "Do you really not know what I'm talking about?" However the expression was killed and Sherlock frowned. "Do you remember what happened?"

John made to shake his head, but stops as the movement caused more aches and pains to surface. "No," he stated simply instead.

"You were in an explosion," Sherlock said slowly (for him, which sounds about normal for everyone else). "Someone rigged our refrigerator door to explode when opened. I – it's my fault."

"What?" John asked in confusion.

"I asked you to make me tea."

"Sherlock, that doesn't make this your fault. In fact I'd rather it be me that got hurt than you." Sherlock looked up, a rare confused look on his face. John smiled… or attempted to, but stopped when his split lip protests. "I mean, just look at you. You'd never survive an explosion, scrawny thing like you."

Sherlock's lips thinned and he didn't look amused at John's attempt to lighten the mood. He sat up a bit, not so hunched over now. "Humour, John? When you're lying in the hospital with four broken ribs, a fractured wrist, eleven contusions of various degrees, a second-degree burn on your face, arms, and chest, and scrapes and scratches covering nearly two thirds of your body?"

John shrugs, or attempts to but is once again stopped when it causes pain to flare up. He grimaces as he replies, "Why not?"

Sherlock shook his head exasperatedly.


	3. Option 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Option #3: Johnlock pairing eventually, case fic, Werewolf AU

Sherlock Holmes would never admit it, but just this once, he probably should have listened to his elder brother. Normally Mycroft was a pain in the arse who wanted control over Sherlock's life, hence the reason he was usually ignored. However, since Sherlock was currently being run down by a pack of anarchist werewolves after being warned that that was exactly what would happen… well, you probably get the idea.

The only reason Sherlock hadn't been caught yet was because he himself was a werewolf, and a pretty damn fast one at that. His lean canine body stretched and contracted as he pushed himself faster. He had a plan, but he needed to get far enough ahead to enact it. Scrabbling for purchase as he whipped around a tight corner into an alleyway, Sherlock scurried down the alley a ways before coming to a halt and hid behind a dumpster. Just as he'd thought, the chestnut brown wolf who'd been in the forefront barreled down the alley following Sherlock's scent.

The taller black wolf leapt out at him as he passed and tried to pin him. Sherlock had never actually been very good at fighting, but when it was your life on the line, it was surprising how much better you became. Sherlock had nearly managed to disable the wolf and pin him, when something hit him on his right side, pushing him off the wolf and skidding to a halt several feet away.

Sherlock winced at the pain that blossomed along his ribs and glanced over to see a stocky sandy blond wolf standing guard over his fallen comrade, growling. Grimacing, Sherlock rose to his feet and stood his ground. He quickly surveyed the other wolf and circled around, forcing the other wolf to move with him. The other was well trained in fighting techniques, but there was one small thing that might allow Sherlock to gain the upper hand. The blond wolf's left shoulder had been injured severely a long time ago and had apparently never made a full recovery. It was stiff and he kept weight off it if the opportunity was available.

Hunkering down, Sherlock prepared himself before springing into action and grabbing hold of the blond wolf's left shoulder in his jaws. The shorter wolf yipped and tried to pull away, but Sherlock held tight and managed to pin the wolf down before moving his jaws up towards the other's throat. At that moment, the rest of the pack showed up and halted when they saw two of their fighter's disabled.

A grey wolf with white markings stepped forward. What do you want from us? he asked in the language of wolves.

I want you to turn yourselves in to Scotland Yard. Sherlock replied, growling.

You know that will not be happening today. The grey wolf lowered his head and glared at Sherlock. We could take you right now, you know? The threat wasn't subtle in the least, and the wolf's tone suggested that this was all very nonchalant.

Sherlock growled and positioned his maw above the sandy wolf's throat. The stocky wolf lay still, belly up in submission, and whined. I'll kill him, the black wolf threatened. I'll kill him if you don't let me leave unmolested.

The grey wolf looked over his rival, studying his body language and finally decided that the black wolf meant business. He nodded once and made a motion for the rest of the pack to back off a bit. Sherlock growled again and nudged the sandy colored wolf up to his feet. The blond wolf made an attempt to rejoin his pack, but Sherlock growled again and grabbed hold of the scruff of his neck. You'll be coming with me, he said, moving backwards.

You will not abduct a member of our pack! The grey wolf snapped.

He is my insurance. You obviously value him, and I will use him as I see fit if it means my safe leave. Sherlock continued to back away, dragging the sandy blond wolf with him.

The grey wolf huffed and lowered his head as a low growl resonated from deep in his belly. You've not seen the last of us, that, the grey wolf let loose a long howl before turning and leading the rest of the pack away. The chestnut wolf from earlier followed in their wake, limping along the way.

The blond wolf whined a bit, but did not attempt to get away. Come on then. Sherlock tugged at him. Can I let you go, or do I have to drag you the entire way?

I'll cooperate, the blond wolf grumbled, staying slack in Sherlock's grasp.

Sherlock hesitantly let go, expecting the sandy blond wolf to run, but he didn't. He straightened himself and glared back at the black wolf, studying him. Let's go, Sherlock nudged the blond wolf to walk in front of him. He continued to give directions, never telling the wolf where exactly they were going. He didn't want the wolf to find out where he lived then bolt. Sherlock was fairly certain he could outrun the sandy wolf, but he was still at a disadvantage against the other's fighting skills. He highly doubted he would be lucky twice.


	4. Option 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Option #4: Johnlock, House/Sherlock Crossover

"Sherlock, are you sure you want to do this?" John Watson asked as he watched his husband pack his suitcase.

"My mind is made up, John."

"Yes, but you only found out this information yesterday. You need more time to adjust, more time to think things through."

Sherlock grabbed a small pile of silk shirts and carried them to his case, placing them on top of a pile of tailored trousers. "I didn't sleep last night, had plenty of time to think." He moved on to socks.

John shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sherlock, for normal people, it can take years to come to terms with the fact that their parents aren't who they think they are. I know you're far from normal, but you can't honestly tell me that you've worked everything out in a twenty-four hour period!"

"I'm leaving, John. Plane leaves for New Jersey in one hour. Are you coming or not?" Sherlock stopped packing for a moment to turn and give John a look that said Go pack because you know you're coming.

John let out a long breath. "Fine, I'm going to pack," he grumbled before moving towards the closet to fetch his suitcase.

Twenty-four hours previously…

"Sherlock, come eat. I picked up ginger pecan chicken for you," John called.

"One minute," the reply came from the window.

John wasn't sure what Sherlock was doing, but it involved dangling an apricot attached to a bit of string from the window. Perhaps he was looking to see how many people noticed the fruit? John shrugged and smiled. At least this experiment didn't involve acid. A few minutes later, they were both seated at the experiment-free end of the table eating their Chinese take-away and they heard a knock at the door downstairs. Mrs. Hudson answered a moment later, "Mr. Holmes! How lovely to see you. They're just upstairs."

"Mycroft," Sherlock groaned, dropping his forkful of fried rice.

"Sherlock, John…" Mycroft said upon entering.

"Sorry, Mycroft, only ordered enough for two. 'Fraid you'll have to leave," Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft smiled. "Thanks, but I'm not hungry. I have information that you should know."

"Yes, yes, we all know about your torrid love affair with cake."

"Sherlock…"

John watched them volley insults for another minute before breaking it up. "Boys…" he said stepping between the two brothers. "What have you come to say, Mycroft?"

Sherlock glared at John as though he'd betrayed him, but didn't say anything when Mycroft began to speak. "It involves our father… our biological father."

"You mean… your dad isn't your actual dad?" John asked looking between the two men. "Why didn't you ever say anything, Sherlock?"

The tall dark haired man shrugged. "The topic never came up."

"He's alive, and I have his location," Mycroft continued.

At this Sherlock's brows furrowed and his mouth dropped open a bit. "But… Mummy always said…"

"I know what Mummy always said, Sherlock, but I have discovered otherwise."

"And why are you coming to me with this information? He obviously didn't want anything to do with us."

"Just thought you might want to know," Mycroft said as he set a folder, presumably with their biological father's information, down on the table. "I have digital copies of this information. You can keep this, and I'll be on my way then."

John moved to show Mycroft out. As soon as the door had shut, he turned back to Sherlock who was staring at the folder. "Sherlock?" he ventured, taking a step forward. Sherlock's head jerked up and his eyes for a moment looked slightly wilder than normal, but the next moment they were the same as usual. "Did you want to look?" John asked.

"No," he replied immediately.


	5. Option 5

Option #5: Johnlock eventually, Vampire AU, Vampire!Sherlock  
The idea for this one is that there's a war going on between vampires/vampire supporters and those who want to rid the world of the blood sucking creatures. John is captured and thrown in a cell with other vampire POW's. Enter Vampire!Sherlock who takes to John. This one will most likely get to an M rating very quickly.

John ducked behind a burnt-out car as bullets ricocheted off the metal and surrounding area. He grimaced as his knee banged into the vehicle, but didn't move any further. His position was precarious as it was. His team had entered the small village cautiously. The run down buildings had appeared to be abandoned, but they'd found out that it was quite the opposite. As soon as they'd entered the central square in the village, the guerillas had jumped out and started firing.

Taken by surprise, each member of John's team had ducked for cover, however he knew that at least half had been hit already. He strained his neck to get a glimpse over the hood of the car he was crouched behind, but only saw bodies strewn in front of him. Matthews was crouched behind a low barricade made of old furniture and boxes clutching at his bleeding leg. John set his resolve and waited for a moment before making a mad dash across the street to where Matthews was. "Captain!" Matthews grunted. "You shouldn't have done that!"

"Are you kidding, Matthews? That leg needs attention ASAP," John growled pulling a tourniquet out of his first-aide bag.

"Respectfully sir, you're the only medic we got. You shouldn't be risking your neck on stuff like this," Matthews grunted as John wrapped the tourniquet around his leg and tightened it.

"You'll live, Matthews. Stop being a drama queen." The army medic gave a final pull to the tourniquet and turned his attention to the wound itself. "This doesn't look that bad. You'll have to have surgery to get any fragments out, but it doesn't look like there'll be any lasting damage." Matthews nodded, clutching his leg with one hand. "Now, do you think you can sit tight while I try to sort out this fire fight?"

"Just how are you going to do that, Captain?" Matthews asked disbelievingly.

John smiled crookedly and tightened the straps back down on his med-pack. "Watch and learn," he said picking up his gun.

Taking a deep breath, the Captain leaned around the pile of furniture and boxes, trying to count how many guerillas were out there. Unfortunately, he could only see three off hand because of their location in windows or doors, but he knew there were more. Looking down, he could see that more than half of his team was already bleeding out on the ground. He didn't hold out hope that any were still alive. The blond army captain wasn't sure where the rest of his team was.

He fired his first shot on an exhale, aiming at a dark figure in the window of one of the buildings. A scream was heard, but John had already moved on. His second shot went into the shadows of an alley where another hoarse shout and some Pashto swearing was heard. His third and fourth went into the doorway of the building half a block down, and he never got to make his fifth. John was readying himself to fire again when a cold piece of metal was shoved against the base of his skull.

Slowly, he raised his arms to either side of his head and dropped his gun. "Get up!" the man behind the AR demanded. John rose to his feet steadily. His hands were bound behind him and he was spun around to see a man in dark robes with a black beard and a head wrap. "You are doctor?" he asked keeping his weapon trained on John, but looking to the medical bag slung over his shoulder.

"Yes. I'm a doctor," John confirmed.

"Good," he grabbed John and shoved him towards a couple of the other insurgents who had come out.

John stumbled, but kept his balance. "Wait! I can't just leave him!" he looked over at Matthews who was pale and keeping quiet. "He needs surgery."

The man in the dark robes looked over at Matthews, seeming to analyze him before he swiftly turned his rifle on the man and shot once. Matthews didn't have a chance. The bullet went right through his forehead. However that didn't stop John from trying to leap at the insurgent. "NO! YOU MURDERER! He didn't have to die!" he kicked at the man and tried to shove at him, but it was difficult when your hands were tied behind your back.

It didn't take long for the others to get over their shock and restrain the army doctor. The man in the dark robes started shouting something in Pashto and gesturing wildly with the AR.


	6. Option 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Option #6: Johnlock eventually, Werewolf AU OR Vampire AU... haven't decided which. Your input is welcome on this!

"John we need you!" Sarah Sawyer pleaded to her employee as they stood beside the appointment desk. "Don't make me order you."

"That would be blatant abuse of your authority," John smirked as he looked over the chart for his next patient.

"And?"

"And we wouldn't want that to happen, now would we?" he glanced up at her smiling.

"So you'll do it then? It is for a good cause after all."

"Yes, I know. I was here last year for the event if you recall."

"Thank you, John! You're a lifesaver! After Murray dropped out… well anyway, thanks," she patted his shoulder and moved off to cover her own patients.

John Watson shook his head and let out a sigh. Sarah had promised him last year that he wouldn't have to do this again, but it appeared that she'd forgotten the incident last year involving a table cloth and a candle. It hadn't technically been his fault, but in all honesty it couldn't entirely be said that it wasn't his fault either. Either way, it seemed John would have to brush off his old suit and make an appearance at this year's hospital benefit where all of the generous donors to the hospital would be wined and dined and the doctors and nurses showed their gratitude by being the wait staff.

Tucking the clipboard with the chart and blood work analysis under his arm, John made his way to room 2B where his next patient awaited him as well as to hear the news that he was positive for gonorrhea… this promised to be a wonderful afternoon. John shook his head and opened the door. "Henry…"

: : : : :

It was getting on towards the end of the night luckily, and John was counting the minutes until he could go home, get out of this ridiculous suit, and take a nice hot shower. Of course, that was right about when the night decided to get even worse. John had just grabbed a chilled merlot, a pinot noir, and a white zin to take out to table three. He was weaving his way across the room, concentrating on his footing through the maze of tables. The low lighting didn't help matters. It was then that a man at table seven backed his chair up and stood all in one fluid movement and completely unaware of John right next to him. The tall dark haired man had a scowl on his face and looked to be leaving, but was stopped abruptly when John collided with him, spilling the wine all over the man's fitted three piece suit. John stood with mouth gaping. The man's fine white shirt was now splotched with purple and if he'd been scowling before, it was nothing to what he was doing right now.

John stumbled backwards a bit. "I'm sorry, sir. Truly, I am!" he attempted to apologize.

"You insolent fool," he growled. "One would think a surgeon, a former army surgeon at that, would have a bit more grace. Apparently not though."

John stumbled back even more at the sound of an actual growl leaving the man's throat. Just his luck… he had to spill wine on one of the werewolf elites! John had a momentary flashback to primary school where they'd learned all about the werewolf elites and their place in society. He could distinctly remember Mrs. Honsey tell them about how the elite had taken their place in London's society centuries ago. Some had even joined the government and had helped to create laws regarding biting humans. Thanks to them, it was illegal for a werewolf to turn a human unless it was heat week and the human was a potential mate, or the human had submitted a detailed application as well as the one thousand pound fee and was accepted by the board after blood and psychiatric tests. There were some humans who desperately wanted to be werewolves because of illness such as epilepsy that the bite could heal. The bite had also been reported to heal certain people of cancer, though that was rare and the cancer had to be in the early stages. Of course some humans wanted to be changed simply because they thought being a werewolf would be a preferable life.

"Sherlock," a low voice from behind the tall dark haired scowling werewolf warned.

The werewolf, Sherlock apparently, stopped growling and straightened as though realizing that he was making a scene. He gave John a once over, sneered then marched away. John let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and moved to fetch a broom and a mop for the three broken glasses. However he was held back by the other man who'd spoken. "I hope you don't take offence to my brother, Doctor Watson."  
John turned to see a slightly balding man in a dapper suite. "It was my fault, sir. I probably would've been angry too had someone spilled wine on my nice suit," John attempted a weak smile, wondered how the man knew his name, then remembered he was wearing a nametag.

The man returned the smile, though it was laced with curiosity. "I'll give him your apology then, shall I?"

"Yes please, I truly didn't know he would stand up so suddenly like that."

"Very well then, Doctor Watson. I'll accept your apology on behalf of my brother."

"Thank you, sir. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

John walked back to the kitchens, and once in the door turned to lean against the wall next to the cleaning supplies closet. He took several deep breaths and closed his eyes for a moment. Obviously, someone had it in for him for these kinds of events. This night was just as bad as last year's event. "John? You okay?" Sarah's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Yeah, just fine. Had a lovely encounter with a werewolf elite just now though," he opened his eyes to see Sarah standing in front of him, her black dress hugging her slim figure.

"Oh?" her face took on a worried look.

"Nothing to worry about, just spilled wine all over his suit."  
"Oh my gosh, John! Was he furious? Did he hurt you?"

"Yes, and no. He was angry to be sure, but I think he was angry before I spilt the wine on him. And no, he didn't hurt me."

"Well that's good at least," her face relaxed a bit. "Hey, it's getting a bit slower now. I can have Rick take over for you if you wanted to head home?"  
John pretended to deliberate for a moment before saying, "You know, I think I'll take you up on that offer."

Sarah smiled and nodded. "Right, have a good evening then, John. I'll see you Monday."

John nodded and turned to grab his coat from the employee entrance before heading out the back door. He wasn't two steps from the door though before someone was pushing him violently up against the brick wall. The air was pushed from his lungs as he landed and struggled to regain his breath. His front was against the wall, so he couldn't see who had him pinned, but whoever it was, was quite strong. "Such interesting creatures, humans," a familiar voice breathed into his ear.

John sucked in a breath as he realized that it was the werewolf elite he'd spilled wine on. "Look, I'm sorry, really I am," he tried apologizing, but the lycanthrope only shoved him again so the air was pushed from his lungs.

"Most humans are so bland, dull, and easily frightened," he continued as though John hadn't said anything. "But not you… no. You're scared right now, yes, but not as much as you should be. Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John struggled to free himself, but the werewolf, Sherlock, just pinned him against the wall even harder, one hand holding John's wrists behind his back, the other pressed in between his shoulder blades to keep him in place. The werewolf's question hit him then. Why did he want to know? How could he know? "What?" he asked still trying to work a hand free.

"I dislike repetition, human. Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan! But how did you…?"

"Know? I didn't know, I observed. And once again, you exhibit an unhealthy lack of fear of me."

"I'm sorry that I'm not afraid of you? Is that what you want me to say?" John grumbled, becoming more and more annoyed at this presumptuous werewolf.

"No, of course not," he muttered.

Silence filled the alley for a full minute before John spoke again. "So are we just going to stay like this, or what?"

"No, I think we'll be going now," Sherlock answered.

"We? We aren't going anywhere together!" John protested vehemently, struggling to free himself.

"You don't think I'm going to let you go home now? Not when you present such an interesting mystery?" Sherlock whispered in his ear.

John shivered. He could almost hear the smirk in that whisper. "I don't want to hurt you, just let me go now," he replied trying to put some force behind his words, and thinking of how he used to get out of tough holds on the rugby pitch.

Sherlock chuckled a bit before answering. "If you were capable of hurting me, you would have done it before now."

"Not all of us humans are so violently inclined."

"Even still… a human out powering a werewolf? It's unheard of!"

"There's a first time for everything," John growled.

"Not tonight there isn't. I apologise in advance for the mark this will leave, but it's necessary."

"What?" John asked before a sudden sharp pain blossomed along his right temple. He managed to keep consciousness long enough to feel strong arms wrapping around him to prevent him from falling. Then all went black.


	7. Option 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Option #7: Sarah/Jareth relationship, The plan for this one is to have Jareth be temporarily blind and cut off from his magic and Sarah has to help him.

The Goblin King twirled and thrust the saber towards his enemy. Panting with exertion, the agile younger fae jumped out of the way just in time. Both ethereal beings stared hard at each other as blood was shed around them. Everything was on the line and neither side would admit defeat at this point. There were only two choices: win or die.

Jareth the Goblin King tried to settle his racing heart and block out the screams of his subjects as they were slashed open. Bronwyn, the fae behind the invasion of the Goblin Kingdom, stood in a similar pose regaining some strength. "About time you gave up, isn't it?" Bronwyn called over to Jareth.

Jareth glared at the younger fae. "My kingdom will not be ruled by an impudent, inbred, hedge-pig."

Bronwyn's eyes shrunk to narrow slits and he let out a fierce battle cry as he charged the Goblin King. Jareth struggled to raise his sword in time to block the blow; he'd lost his shield long ago. Bronwyn's heavy sword skated along Jareth's lighter one. However the blow pushed Jareth back enough that he lost his balance and fell into the trampled mud. Bronwyn paused for a moment, a manic grin crossing his face. A low laugh came from him as he set the tip of his sword against Jareth's throat. "Cousin, I shall give you the honor of a quick death, ONLY! if you crawl forward and kiss my boots."

Jareth glared up at the fae, blinking the rain from his eyes. His hand tightened on the saber still in his hand, intending to slash up with it and knock Bronwyn's sword away. The younger darker fae noticed though and stomped down on Jareth's wrist with one booted foot. The Goblin King let out a strangled yell of pain and his saber was kicked away. Bronwyn didn't stop there though; he also stomped down on Jareth's abdomen, causing the blond fae to lose his breath and curl in upon himself, sure that there must be several broken ribs.

Through his rough breathing, Jareth could hear the screams of his goblins as they were slaughtered by Bronwyn's fae army. While goblins were ferocious, they were only really effective in groups. Singled out, they were easily taken down, and Bronwyn knew this. His fae army was superior in size to anything Jareth could have even begun to assemble had he known what his cousin was planning. And it was quite obvious that Bronwyn had been planning this assault. He'd known which passages to take in the labyrinth to get to the castle in as short an amount of time as possible, and he'd also known about the protective spells and how to circumvent them. Had Hoggle, whose cottage was on the outskirts of the labyrinth, not warned him, they would've been caught completely by surprise. As it was though, the little warning they did have had only ensured that they all hadn't been killed in their beds. His goblins were being efficiently cut down and he himself was grounded.

Ignoring the rain falling onto his face and the pain surging through his torso, Jareth turned to glare up at his cousin. The sword tip was still positioned near his throat, so he had little choice but to crawl forward and lower his head towards the arrogant fae's boot. However at that moment he pulled a short dagger from his belt and sliced it through his cousin's Achilles tendon. Bronwyn roared with pain and dropped to one knee, level with his cousin's now smirking face. "You may defeat me, but you will never rule the labyrinth. She'll never answer to you."

At this pronouncement, Bronwyn glared at his cousin before roaring again in anger. With his anger, the ground started to tremble and Jareth looked around worried. There were very few fae who could control the elements and he'd never known Bronwyn to have that level of control. However the ground was indeed shaking in response to his cousin's rage and was now starting to crack as well. Jareth stumbled away from a crack near his boot. "Bronwyn, stop!" he commanded.

Bronwyn did no such thing though and instead intensified the spell. The goblins and fae surrounding them stopped their fighting and scurried for cover. The cracks were becoming deeper and wider. "BRONWYN!"

The dark fae refused to listen though and Jareth moved to physically break his concentration, but Bronwyn noticed the movement and focused the spell around the blond fae. The roaring chasm extended toward Jareth and the Goblin King struggled to escape it, knowing that it was moving too fast. He almost made it to solid ground when a piece of earth dropped from beneath his boot causing him to fall. The ground around him continued to crack and break away, leaving nothing stable to grab onto. Jareth felt himself falling backwards and was about to perform a levitation spell when his skull collided with a piece of rock. Pain flared through his head briefly before he lost consciousness and continued plummeting to what would surely be his death.

\--------------------------

_Sarah watched as he approached, his face daunting even though she was so close to winning. His white feather cloak seemed to float on the non-existent breeze and his matching garments enhanced his lean physique. She allowed her eyes to rove over his body as he came closer. "Give me the child," she said in a near whisper her eyes coming to rest on his mismatched eyes._

_He halted for a moment, searching her face before continuing his slow saunter towards her. "Sarah beware," he said in a low voice. "I have been generous up till now, but I can be cruel."_

_He moved even closer and started to circle her, but she refused to be intimidated. In fact, she was quite amazed at what he'd just said. "Generous?" she remarked. "What have you done that's generous?" sarcasm was evident in her voice as well as the slight tilt of her head._

_"Everything!" he bit out, continuing to circle her. "Everything that you wanted, I have done. You asked that the child be taken; I took him. You cowered before me; I was frightening." His temper was starting to show in the way his boots hit the stone floor as well as his jerky movements. Sarah merely continued to follow him as he circled. "I have re-ordered time, I have turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for you!" He finished as he came to a stand still in front of her. "I'm exhausted from living up to your expectations… Isn't that generous?" the question sounded neither mocking nor sarcastic, but earnest._

_Sarah was about to respond, the lines she'd practiced in the park ready on the tip of her tongue, but at that moment Jareth dissolved as though he were a hologram that had been turned off. She stared at the spot where he'd been in confusion. "Greetings youngling…" a voice echoed through the broken room._

_Sarah turned around in confusion trying to figure out where it was coming from. "Who are you?!" she called out. "Where's Toby?!"_

_"Calm yourself child," the voice, which couldn't be identified as either male or female, soothed. "We need your help, Sarah."_

_"Who are you!" she demanded._

_"We don't have a name. However you know us as The Labyrinth."_

_Sarah felt her knees weaken and it was all she could do to remain standing as she realized that this was no longer a dream… and yet it was. "What could you possibly need my help with?"_

_"The Caretaker has been injured and we are unable to assist him."_

_"So you what… Want me to take care of him? Why should I help you?"_

_"Because you are the only one who can. The magic of the Caretaker runs through you as well."_

_"What are you talking about? I have no magic!" The voice remained silent at her outburst. "I don't!"_

_"Will you help us?"_

_"Who is the Caretaker?"_

_"Will you help us? We will repay you."_

_"How?"_

_"A wish… whatever you desire. Will you help us?"_

_"Gah!" Sarah exclaimed, spinning on her heel only to realize that she didn't have anywhere to stomp off to. This was a dream… and she was stuck in the broken Escher room. And yet the Labyrinth was talking to her. She didn't know who this Caretaker person was, but she was fairly certain that she didn't have any magic. How was she supposed to help the Caretaker? Well… she did have her medical training. After she'd returned from her journey through the Labyrinth, she'd started taking life more seriously. After high school, she went to college and trained to be a paramedic. However her college loans were more than she could handle then, so she'd gone into the National Guard which had promised to pay off her loans. As a result, she'd become a paramedic for the army and had just returned from a fourteen-month stay in Kuwait last week. She'd only returned to her apartment last night though after visiting her family. If someone really was hurt, how could she turn them away? Guilt swooped through her then and her mind was made up. "I'll do it," she whispered. "I'll help you."_

_"Our thanks…" the voice said gratefully fading into silence._

\--------------------------

Sarah Williams sat up suddenly in her bed. She could remember every part of the dream she'd just had and it unnerved her to her core. First it had been a familiar dream… one she'd had before… her final confrontation with the Goblin King. Then it had changed… warped into something completely different and somehow she'd ended up agreeing to help some injured Caretaker because apparently she was the only one who could.

Wiping her brow of the sweat that had formed there, she swung her legs off her doublewide bed and moved toward the bathroom to get a drink of water. On her way past the archway into the living room though, she heard a groan and shuffling sound. Doing what would've been a comical double take had she not been concerned, Sarah poked her head back into the living room searching for the source of the noise. "Hello?" she called out.

Another groan met her ears, and she poked her head over the back of the couch to see a tall lean form lying on it. Uttering a single high pitch squeak of alarm, Sarah jumped backwards and fumbled for the light switch. Florescent light filled the room gradually and Sarah nervously moved back to the couch. Her jaw dropped at the sight that met her, and though she just wanted to take a moment to stare and wonder at how the hell the Goblin King had managed to get into her apartment, her medical training kicked in rapidly at the sight of so much blood gushing from his head. "Oh my god," she muttered as she rushed into the bathroom and quickly grabbed up some towels, antiseptic, latex gloves, and bandages then into the kitchen for a bowl of warm water. "Hang on Goblin King," she whispered to him as she knelt beside the couch, pulling the gloves on as she went.

He appeared to be in a lot of pain, considering the tender way he was gripping his torso. She suspected there might be some broken ribs, however his head wound was worrying her much more at the moment. He could easily die if she didn't stop the bleeding, so she pressed a towel gently against the back of his head, putting enough pressure on it in an attempt to make it clot faster. She grimaced as the towel sunk in slightly where it shouldn't have. It appeared he had a fractured skull. He needed a doctor. She may know more than the average person about medicine, but she also knew that the skill needed to prevent him from dying was beyond her.


	8. Option 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Option #8: Sarah/Jareth, Alternate Ending, I'm going for a Beauty and the Beast vibe with this one... kind of.

Sarah watched as he approached, his face daunting even though she was so close to winning. His white feather cloak seemed to float on the non-existent breeze and his matching garments enhanced his lean physique. She allowed her eyes to rove over his body as he came closer. "Give me the child," she said in a near whisper her eyes coming to rest on his mismatched orbs.

He halted for a moment, searching her face before continuing his slow saunter towards her. "Sarah beware," he said in a low voice. "I have been generous up till now, but I can be cruel."

He moved even closer and started to circle her, but she refused to be intimidated. In fact, she was quite amazed at what he'd just said. "Generous?" she remarked. "What have you done that's generous?" sarcasm was evident in her voice as well as the slight tilt of her head.

"Everything!" he bit out, continuing to circle her. "Everything that you wanted, I have done. You asked that the child be taken; I took him. You cowered before me; I was frightening." His temper was starting to show in the way his boots hit the stone floor as well as his jerky movements. Sarah merely continued to follow him as he circled. "I have re-ordered time, I have turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for you!" He finished as he came to a stand still in front of her. "I'm exhausted from living up to your expectations… Isn't that generous?" the question sounded neither mocking nor sarcastic, but earnest.

"No! That's not generous! How is that generous?" she yelled back at him, her fists clenching. "You've put me through hell to get back my baby brother, who I never actually meant to wish away in the first place, and you tell me you were being generous this entire time?"

He continued to study her, as though unbelieving that she could be so obstinate. "What's said is said…"

"DON'T!" she interrupted. "Don't you dare spout that crap! Don't you have any morals? How can you just take a child without consideration to the intent behind the words? Huh?"

"You're trying my patience, Sarah. Perhaps I did look at the intent behind your words. Perhaps in your subconscious you truly meant it?"

She shook her head, "No… I wouldn't do that."

"Oh, but we all have dark wishes. It's only those of us who're most true to ourselves who recognize that."

"I don't believe you!"

What was she doing arguing with him? She'd solved the labyrinth! She'd won! Why hadn't he given back her brother? He was cheating! He was breaking his own rules! Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him, her gaze settling on the pendant around his neck. She'd never seen him without it. Despite all of the changes in wardrobe he'd vainly done, he'd always had the pendant about his neck. In a sudden fit of inspiration and desperation, she reached out, quick as lightening, and grabbed the cool metal, snapping the cord as she pulled it away. Just as quickly, she jumped back out of his reach.

His eyes opened wide and his mouth dropped open slightly in shock. Just as quick as the emotion appeared, it was gone though. "You don't believe me?" he asked as though nothing had happened. He started to circle around behind her, but she remained steadfast. "Sarah, Sarah… you continue to surprise me… and annoy me."

Sarah turned to face him. "Well isn't that just too bad? Now give me back my brother and I'll give you back this," she held up the medallion.

Jareth smirked and continued to circle around her, one gloved hand rising to flick a strand of her hair. "Now, why would I do something like that in return for a mere trinket?" He leaned in close and she could feel his warm breath as he whispered in her ear. "My dear, I think you're going to give that back to me now." His tone conflicted with his previous question. It was obvious the medallion was not a mere trinket.

"N – No…" she stuttered as he leaned closer to her.

There was no physical contact, but he was so close to her that she could feel his body heat, and her hormones were flaring up at the nearness of him. "Yessss… admit it, Sarah, you do have dark wishes." He mumbled in a deep baritone that set her cheeks aflame. "Deep dark desires that you keep locked up inside."

He moved around to the front of her, still keeping the same close distance. Sarah felt as though her feet were rooted to the spot. She couldn't have moved at the moment if her life depended on it. The Goblin King smirked down at her, the corners of his mouth rising into a feral expression that set her to shaking. A gloved hand rose slowly and gently ghosted along the side of her face. Still no contact was made, and the urge to lean into the not-touch nearly overwhelmed her. He leaned close then, his mouth coming to within an inch of her ear. "All you have to do is give me the pendant, Sarah. Give it to me and this will all end."

Sarah tensed; she was not going to admit to having these dark wishes he spoke of, but she could tell that by holding on to his pendant, she had power over him. "What if I make a bargain with you, Sarah?" He moved his face back, away from hers, to better look into her eyes. "Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave."

"I – I…"

One hand ghosted over her shoulder and arm, millimeters from touching, but never making contact. "Just do as I say and you can have whatever you want, precious."

She trembled as his gaze seemed to unlock something inside her. The intimate way he talked to her and his almost touches raised feelings in her that she'd never had before. Of course there had been boys who she'd had crushes on, but nothing like this fire that flew through her veins and set her to panting with a need for something she didn't quite know. Perhaps it was the promise held in those mismatched eyes or perhaps it was the hope that he'd actually touch her, but Sarah found herself answering without thinking of the consequences. "Yes…" she whispered.

The pendant fell from her numb fingers and he was suddenly gone. Cold air filled the space in front of her where he'd been so close that had she leaned forward they would've touched. She took in a cleansing breath and blinked a few times only to see a smirking Goblin King in front of her, his pendant back around his neck. "My, my, Sarah… whatever shall I do with you now?" Sarcasm and triumph echoed in his voice as he spoke.

"What… What did you do?"

"I? I did nothing! You let your desires overwhelm your purpose and have given yourself to me."

"No…" she whispered as her knees gave out and she fell forward onto them, her legs tucked under her.

"However, I am generous, as I said before, and since you did make it through the labyrinth, I'd be willing to send your brother back as promised."

She barely heard him, but a soft 'thank you' escaped her lips, almost automatically, before she asked, "And what about me?"  
"What about you, Sarah?" he sneered half turning away from her.

"What will happen to me?"

He laughed, a malicious sounding outburst. "Yes, because everything is about you, isn't it?"

"No… I just…"

"You'll stay here seeing as you promised to obey me."

She stared at him, unwilling to believe what he was saying. "I just want to go home…"

He scoffed and created a crystal sphere. "This is your home now," he growled.

She watched apprehensively as he drew back his arm and sent the sphere hurling at the small child on the stair. "NO!" Sarah screamed as it shattered and Toby disappeared. She jumped to her feet, her head turning in a frenzied search for him. "What did you do?" she cried frantically.

"I sent him back, as promised." She turned to him with wide desperate eyes. He rolled his own eyes and produced another crystal and held it out to her. She approached him hesitantly and peered into the sphere. Inside, she could see a slumbering Toby back in his crib at home. Her eyes rose to meet his; the look on his face was indecipherable and she found herself mesmerized by it. "Thank you…" she muttered.

He scoffed and turned his back on her, moving away towards the arch he'd entered from. Sarah stood still for a moment before rushing after him. As much as she disliked him at the moment, she really did not want to be left to find her own way out of this broken room. The moment she stepped through the arch, she found herself in a large stone corridor that definitely was not part of the broken Escher room. Jareth was ahead of her, still marching away. She wasn't sure what to do, so she continued to follow him.

He eventually led her to a thick wooden door where he stopped abruptly and turned to face her. "These will be your quarters," he said gesturing toward the door.

Sarah moved forward and opened the door to find a simple room on the other side, but one that looked comfortable. She entered and walked half way in before turning back to the Goblin King who was still watching her. "Thanks."

He nodded once. "I'll expect you'll want food. Dinner will be served in one hour. I'll send a goblin to show you the way. Be there on time or you won't get anything to eat until tomorrow morning," he said sternly.

She nodded and he walked away haughtily. As she watched him go, she wondered what was going to happen to her now. Would the Goblin King make her into some kind of servant? Would he leave her to her own affairs? She shook her head at that thought and her mind turned to the memory of his intimate closeness in the Escher room. Shivering at remembered heightened tension, she hoped he would not expect anything carnal in nature. She just wasn't that kind of girl. Hell, she'd barely even dated back home. Home… her heart plunged into her stomach at the thought that she would never again see it. Perhaps after some time, she could convince him to just send her back, because what could he possibly want her for anyway? Tears slipped from the corner of her eyes where she'd been holding them in and slid down her cheeks when she thought of how long it would be until she could see her family again, if at all.


	9. Option 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Option #9: Sarah/Jareth eventually, Alpha/Beta/Omega AU, Sarah becomes an omega and goes into heat after visiting the Labyrinth.

It had been three long months since Sarah's return to the Aboveground. In that time, she'd gone through the five stages of grief. At first it had been denial that the entire trip to the Underground had ever happened. Her friends hadn't contacted her since that night and Toby was fine, and aside from the lingering memories, there was not definitive proof that it had indeed happened.

Next had been anger. Sarah had been inexplicably angry at pretty much anything that moved and some things that didn't. She'd wanted to know why this had happened to her and what was she supposed to do now? She couldn't talk to anyone about it; they'd all think she was crazy! How could she be introduced to a world with magic and creatures beyond imagination only to be sent back and expected to live a normal life?

Bargaining had followed shortly after. The teenager had pleaded with the Goblin King to let her back in. She'd tried contacting her friends through the mirror in her bedroom with no success. She'd tried wishing for Jareth to appear. She'd tried wishing herself to the Underground. The only thing she didn't try (and wouldn't no matter what) was wishing Toby away again.

The depression phase had lasted a surprisingly long time, nearly one whole month out of the three. Sarah had given up on getting back to the Underground and contacting her friends. She'd decided that they didn't want to see her. She stopped eating for a while during her depression, resulting in nearly a fifty-pound drop in weight. Before, she'd been a healthy girl, but now she was skeletal. Her father and step-mother put her into counseling, afraid that she was bulimic. However the counselor had come back with a report that she was grieving over something. The man never did find out what.

Eventually, nearly three months to the day, Sarah entered the phase of acceptance. It wasn't an epiphany or magical moment. It simply happened one day when she was staring blankly at her ceiling and she decided that this was it. This was her life and she would have to live it. Her parents were beyond happy that she came down to eat dinner with them that evening, even if she didn't eat all of her plate.

Sarah only had a week of living in acceptance before it happened. She was coming home from school. It was the beginning of spring break and she found herself smiling for the first time in months. The walk home was a bit long, especially in the cold wind that was threatening snow, but she was enjoying it. Looking down at her feet, she didn't notice the man coming towards her until it was too late and she ran full on into him. "Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" she said as she looked up from her new position on the frozen sidewalk.

"No, no! It's my fault!" he said reaching down to help her up. He gripped her firmly and pulled. Sarah took notice of his shoulder length brown hair half pulled back in a tie. He was wearing a long wool coat and black boots over dark pants. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Her gaze rose to meet his blue eyes and she inhaled deeply. The smell of warm spices and wool met her. "Yeah," she answered weakly.

"Are you sure? You look a bit out of it." At that moment, he took in a deep breath as well. His eyes widened and he looked at her more carefully, taking in her hazel eyes, dark brown hair, and fair features. "Are you…?" he trailed off. "I should walk you home. You shouldn't be out in your condition."

"Condition?" Sarah asked after a moment.

"Come on," he said, linking arms with her and pulling her along back the way he had come. "Where do you live?"

"Um…" she tried to focus, but the inviting smell of the stranger was leaving her hazy and confused. " 628 Cherry Lane," she finally managed.

The stranger nodded and started to lead the way. It took only ten minutes, but in that time, Sarah had gone from feeling fuzzy to feeling achy. Shivers stole over her and no amount of pulling her coat tighter was helping. "Here we are," the stranger finally said.

Sarah looked up to see her house, warm and inviting. "Thank you," she said.

"I hope you feel better soon," he said sympathetically eyeing her shivering.

Sarah nodded and entered the old Victorian house. She turned before closing the door though. Despite how crumby she was starting to feel, she felt she owed the stranger something and was going to invite him in for a drink. However when she turned, he was already down the drive and walking along the sidewalk. The teen shrugged and closed the door. "Sarah? Is that you?" her stepmother, Karen, called out.

"Yeah," Sarah answered taking off her coat and boots.

"Oh good, I just put Toby down for a nap and I've got to run to the market for a moment. I won't be gone longer than twenty minutes," the strawberry blond woman had been rushing to put her coat and shoes on, but paused when she actually took in Sarah's appearance. "You don't look well, sweety. Are you coming down with something?" she pressed the back of her hand against Sarah's forehead. Sarah leaned into the touch and closed her eyes. She was starting to feel like she had a head cold and menstrual cramps at the same time. "Hmm, bit warm. I want you to go right up to bed, okay? I'll call Robert and have him pick up my shopping on the way home."

"I'm fine," Sarah tried to protest.

"Go lay down, Sarah," she interrupted giving the teen a stern look.

Sarah sighed and turned to go upstairs. When she finally made it, she collapsed onto her bed. She was starting to feel that warmth that Karen was talking about. Heat was coursing through her and she got up again to shed her clothing. When she was left in only her underwear and a tank top, she laid down the bed again. A strange sensation was prickling at her and she couldn't quite place it. It was low in her abdomen and felt warm and needy.

Rubbing her arms with her hands caused her to gasp. Just the gentle touch was enough to send electric shocks down her body. Her skin was becoming sensitive to touch and the squirming on the bed that she'd taken up wasn't helping. She let out a needy whine and rolled onto her side.


	10. Option 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Option #10: Sarah/Jareth eventually, Sarah is kidnapped by a member of the Sidhe royalty and made into his servant. Jareth discovers this eventually and comes to the rescue. Semi-evil Jareth. This one is M right from the start (you haven't seen what I have written for ch. 2 yet!)

"How is your food?" Sarah Williams asked of the man in booth fifteen as she made her rounds through the diner.

"My eggs are overcooked."

Sarah glanced down at the eggs in question. They looked the same as always. "Well you did ask for the yolks to be hard, sir," she said still smiling.

"Oh, my apologies. I should have asked for them to be cooked well then. I didn't realize hard yolks meant overcooked!" the elderly man squinted up at Sarah, his red face frowning and his grey comb-over sticking up slightly.

Sarah frowned a bit, but kept her composure. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll take them back and have them re-do the plate."

"Never mind! I'm late as it is!" he grabbed his coat and hat from the seat beside him and scooted out of the booth. "Keep your damn eggs!"

Sarah stood back to let him out. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out," she muttered under her breath.

Despite the man's age, he apparently heard her because he turned back sharply and scowled. "I'll be calling your manager, young lady! Better start packing up your things because I'll be insisting you be fired!"

With that, he let out a huff and marched off, his cane swinging in one hand. Sarah watched him go with a bit of remorse. She should have kept her temper, but the old man was a frequent complainer. He came in probably once a week and always complained about the service or the food. She wondered why he kept coming back if he hated it so much here?

Let out a sigh, she marched back into the kitchen where Andy was standing by the dishwasher, chuckling. "What's wrong with you?" she asked gathering up her next order to go out.

"You got off easy," he replied.

She turned back to him, bewildered. "That was easy? He's threatening to have me fired!"

"Yeah, and he threatened to have Ashley arrested last month, and yet she's still here."

Sarah rolled her eyes and turned back to grab the last plate. However it was scalding hot and she yelped as it crashed to the floor after burning her arm. "Son of a bitch!" she cursed. "Nate! Can I get another number six, ASAP!"

"You got it, sugar!" Nate called back waving his flipper.

Sarah set the rest of the plates down and went over to the sink by Andy. Without a word, he turned on the cold water and sprayed it on her arm over the burn. "Bad day, huh?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "You have no idea, Andy. I am educated and well brought-up, I am not meant to be doing this job!"

Andy dried off her arm for her, simply smiling as she grabbed the plates up again. "Fight the good fight, precious," he said as she walked out the door with the food and the new plate of eggs and bacon.

Sarah halted for a moment, eyes wide. Did he just say what she thought he'd said? Shaking it off, she glared at him and walked out the door. The rest of the day went okay, until her boss approached her right before she was going to punch out. "Sarah?" he called out to her. "Can I have a word in my office after you punch out?"

Sarah gulped and nodded. She turned back to the time clock, waited for it to turn four 'o clock, then slid her card. Walking back to Mr. Kent's office, her stomach was tying itself in knots. "What's up?" she asked her boss as she entered.

"Have a seat and tell me what happened this morning." He looked up at her expectantly from behind his desk.

Sarah sighed as she sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair. She was convinced they made these types of chairs just so your boss could watch you squirm all the more. "It was nothing. Mr. Van Hale was particularly grumpy this morning."

"Still, tell me your version of events," he insisted.

Sarah nodded and folded her hands in front of her as she told him what had happened. She kept it short and sweet and tried not to just slam on Mr. Van Hale, even if he deserved every word. When she was done, she looked up at Mr. Kent and waited. He was observing her carefully, his hands folded in front of him, helping to support his head. His hands fell to the desk though as he began to speak. "Sarah, I've noticed that you don't seem to like working here very much."

Sarah's eyes widened. This sounded like the beginning of a we're-letting-you-go speech. "Sir, I can try harder," she interrupted.

Mr. Kent smiled sympathetically. "That's not what I'm asking for, Sarah." He paused for a second and tension filled the room as Sarah wondered what he was trying to say. "I know you need this job. I know you have bills to pay and that you're trying to save for grad school. But I've also noticed that you don't want to be here. Now, I'm not letting you go, but I want you to take the rest of the week off. I'll even give you paid vacation for two of the days.

"Think about things. Maybe try to get a job in a field that's closer to what you want to go into? I don't want to get rid of you, Sarah. You're good with the customers, well… except for Mr. Van Hale, but I don't think anybody could please him." He smiled genuinely this time, and Sarah nodded. "You're a good worker, but I don't like seeing you miserable. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Sarah nodded again and dropped her eyes. "I understand."

"Don't think I'm punishing you for today, Sarah. I just want you to seriously think about things. I don't want you to be unhappy."

The brunette looked back up and smiled a bit. "I will, Mr. Kent," she promised.

"Good, now go enjoy your long weekend," he smiled back at her, waving his hand to dismiss her.

Sarah nodded and stood, exiting the office with a mix of feelings. On the one hand, having a five-day weekend was going to be amazing! Especially since two of the days she would still be getting paid. On the other, she didn't know what she wanted to do. Her boss was obviously concerned about her, and wanted her to better herself, but where did she even start?

Sarah trudged up the stairs to her apartment. She lived in a four-story walk-up that was quite small, but since it was only her living there, it wasn't so bad. The deadbolt made a reassuring 'snick' as she unlocked, then relocked it after entering. Her purse and coat seemed to find their way to the hooks on the back of the door by themselves, her hands on autopilot. She wanted to just flop on her bed, but she still smelled like the diner, like grease and fried food. Instead she detoured to the bathroom. The hot water streaming down over her felt good and despite the fact that she knew the utilities bill would be up if she kept this up, she enjoyed the moment, simply basking in the heat.

Eventually, she got out and wrapped herself in a large fluffy towel. She towel dried her hair and left it loose to dry naturally. Shivering as she stepped out of the bathroom, Sarah walked the short distance to her bedroom and began rooting through her dresser for a clean pair of pajamas. She'd just grabbed a pair of lounge pants and a long sleeve loose cotton shirt when she heard a scuffle behind her.

The brunette whipped around, clenching tightly to her towel, but didn't see anything. Hazel eyes darted around the room for the source of the noise, but there was nothing in the dimly lit room. She glanced over at the light switch and debated turning on the overhead light, but then shook her head. She was imagining things. She'd locked the door and there was no one in her apartment.

Turning back to the dresser, she dropped her towel and threw it in the general direction of the hamper in her closet. Quickly to avoid the cold air as much as possible, she pulled on a pair of underwear and her pajamas. Her still damp hair was flipped out of her collar and she turned back toward her bed. Her heart stopped and her eyes widened when she saw what was sitting on the comforter.

A small furry goblin sat on the edge of the bed, its short legs dangling over the edge. It raised one small arm and waved, a menacing smile attached to its face. "What the hell?" She whispered.

Suddenly there were small hands gripping her legs, pulling and pushing. She looked down to see that a swarm of goblins had appeared and gathered around her. "What are you doing here?" she asked in a shrill voice. However the goblins' only answer was to push her and she screamed as the push sent her flying backwards. "Stop it!" she screamed as the swarmed over her, grabbing and pulling. Her arms reached out to bat at them, but a medium sized goblin moved with impressive speed to wrap a rope around her wrists.

"Let me go!" she shouted, twisting and turning to get away. She kicked out, but the goblins were too quick and merely moved out of the way.

A moment later, they were dragging her across the floor. "Stop! Please let me go!" she pleaded, tears forming in her eyes now.

The goblins only snickered and laughed as they continued to pull her towards her tall upright mirror. Her eyes widened as the ones closest simply hopped through the looking glass. Her struggles grew more significant, but they only locked down their grips with surprising strength and started to pull her through the mirror. She could feel it as her feet went through. It was like being pulled through a sheet of ice. Piercing cold radiated through her body, almost to the point where it hurt. "NO!" she screamed trying to turn on to her front to gain some leverage. "STOP IT!"

The goblins only laughed more as they pulled her through. Her eyes searched the room, looking for anything that might help. She half expected to see the Goblin Kin standing by her window, laughing as his goblins dragged her through the mirror, but he wasn't there. There was no dark shadow of a cloak. There was no menacing laugh. There was no wicked smile leering down at her. She thought that if he was behind this, he would be here to watch, but he was nowhere in sight.

A particularly harsh pull sent her hips through the mirror and the cold pain radiated down to her bones. "Please!" she pleaded, full on crying now. "Please just let me go!"

The goblins scratched at her and pulled and shoved. She knew she would have bruises when this was over. Her shoulders where now being pulled through the mirror and she sucked in a deep breath at the pain. "JARETH!" she screamed out, doing the one thing she'd vowed never to do eleven years ago.

However nobody came. Her chest heaved quick breaths, and she realized she was hyperventilating, but she couldn't find the energy to care. A sob left her throat as her head was finally pulled through and the last goblin hopped in after. The room was deadly quiet then. Had one walked in at that moment, there was no indication of the events that had just happened. However Sarah Williams had indeed been taken.


	11. Option 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Option #11: Sarah/Jareth eventually, AU, Based on The Prince of Egypt aka the story of Moses from the bible.

Jareth pressed his back harder against the enormous stone statue behind him, trying to hold his breath so the passing priests wouldn't notice. His brother, Jistin, stood next to him in a similar stance. The two brothers were very different in appearance, but nearly the same in mannerisms. While Jareth was tall, lean, pale, and blond, Jistin was medium height, a little stocky, pale, but not nearly so much as his brother, and had hair as dark as raven's wing, which was fitting considering his alternate form was that of a raven, just as Jareth's was that of a pale barn owl. Jareth was the older of the two, but only by two years, which was extremely close considering fae gestation periods usually lasted thirteen months. There were some who thought one of the princes wasn't actually the fruit of the King and Queen, but the rumor mill kept its gossip far from the royal ears seeing as no one wanted to live in the bog of eternal stench.

Despite all of the gossip about the two princes and their origins, they were very close as brothers. So close in fact that they often worked together to pull off some of their more extravagant pranks, such as now. Now they stood together in the narrow space between a towering statue representing Hepiti, the goddess of fertility, and the west wall of the High Temple of the Gods. Jareth carefully peeked out from behind the statue to see the line of priests had moved on, leaving the room empty and silent except for the crackle of the torches lining the walls. With a silent hand motion, Jareth let Jistin know that the coast was clear. Both brothers moved on quiet feet around the massive statue and through the door leading to the temple's main worship room. Their foot steps echoed in the cavernous room as they moved toward the alter where a line of candles stood still lit seeing as the acolyte had not come through to extinguish them yet.

They moved in coordination, one going on each side of the altar to meet at the back where the ceremonial wine that only the priests drank was stored. They smiled at each other in identical grins before opening the cupboard and taking out the top bottle, which would be used at tomorrow's feast day. Jistin pried the cork out, making a loud popping noise as he did. "Shh!" Jareth reprimanded.

'Sorry,' Jistin mouthed and held the bottle steady as Jareth produced a small pouch, opened it, and poured the powdery contents into the wine with a steady hand.

They repeated this process with three more wine bottles, being sure to spread the powder to get as many bottles as possible while still allowing the powder to be effective. Once they were finished with the last bottle, they quickly put it back in the cupboard then sneaking a glance around the altar to make sure the coast was clear, took off for the side entrance. The brothers ran as quickly and quietly as possible, stopping only to quietly open and close the door leading outside the temple into the narrow side street. From there, they continued to run through the back streets until they stopped to lean heavily against the fence surrounding the yard of some rich courtier. "We did it," Jistin whispered.

"Of course we did it! Did you ever have any doubts?" Jareth asked straightening from his slouch against the fence.

"Well, considering we only had a twenty minute time frame to work with between when the priests left and acolytes came through, yeah, I was a little skeptical," the younger brother replied.

Jareth waved a hand dismissively. "I knew we would make it. We've worked on tighter schedules."

Jistin couldn't argue there. There had been one time they'd swapped all of the kitchen servant's plain white aprons for pink frilly ones and only had a total of ten minutes to accomplish it during the staff meeting. "What do you think they'll do when they discover the effects of the wine?" Jistin asked as he rubbed at the stitch in his side.

Jareth grinned widely. "I suspect we'll find out tomorrow during the feast, or perhaps shortly after." He held a gloved hand out to Jistin to pull him upright. "Come, we need to get back."

Jistin nodded and the two brothers simultaneously changed into their alternate forms. Then two winged forms rose above the posh expensive houses of the elite and made their way towards the opulent palace that sat high above everything else in the city.

It was nearly three hours after the feast the next day when both Jareth and Jistin were called to the throne room before their father, King Josham the High King of the Underground. They strode confidently through the tall double doors into the marble throne room where their father sat in his high backed throne. He was alone, which was unusual in itself because he was usually surrounded by courtiers and attendants. However the large marble room was empty and silent except for the clicking of Jistin and Jareth's boots as they approached the throne.

They came to a stop and bowed low before their father who glared down at them with a scowl that he usually reserved for negotiations with other kingdoms. "You sent for us father?" Jareth asked, taking the lead.

"Yes, I thought you might have an explanation to a problem I seem to have."

"We would be glad to help in any way we can, father," Jareth continued.

King Josham was silent for a moment before beginning. "The high priest approached me today shortly after the feast to make a complaint. Can you guess what it was?"

"Why, no. What did the high priest complain about?"

"He was blue."

"Well, perhaps he needs to get out of the temple and talk to more people? That might cheer him up," Jistin suggested.

"You misunderstand me, Jistin. The high priest was literally blue. His skin, as well as the skin of every other priest who attended the feast, has turned a brilliant shade of azure. He seemed to think you two had something to do with it."

"How could we have? Anyway, how would you even turn a priest blue?" Jistin argued.

"You know perfectly well that concentrated lapis lazuli powder when mixed with liquid will turn the drinker blue! Of which, nearly half the royal chemist's store of has gone missing!"

Jareth and Jistin remained silent. It was at that moment that it occurred to them that they probably should have gotten the powder from somewhere outside of the castle. King Josham let out a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose as a stress headache was starting to form. "Perhaps I need to be more strict with you boys. You shouldn't be acting like this at this age, especially you, Jareth. You are to take my place as High King someday. What am I suppose to ascertain from your actions? That you are nothing more than a spoiled young prince who needs a good whipping? I am disappointed in you, boys. I thought you'd moved on past simple pranks."

Jareth and Jistin hung their heads. Their prank had seemed hilarious when they'd watched as the priests discovered their new skin tone, but now in the face of their father's disappointment, it wasn't nearly so.


	12. Option 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Option 12: Dramione pairing, Post-War AU, There's actually a few chapters of this story already up on my fanfiction.net account, but I'm putting the beginning here because I want it to be included in the voting. Check out The Right Thing on my ff.net page if you want to read more.
> 
> [Link to FF.net page](https://www.fanfiction.net/~ismiradaugene)

Did I do the right thing? Hermione Granger asked herself as she sat at the bar of The Leaky Cauldron. Her bushy brown hair was pulled back into a braid that rested on her pale green long-sleeve v-neck with a blouse underneath. She rested her forehead in one hand closing her eyes for a moment. "Would you like another?" Tom the bartender asked.

Hermione looked up at him then down at the empty glass before her. She nodded thinking, what the hell… I've already had three. "One dirty martini coming up," Tom grabbed her glass and wandered down to the other end of the bar.

He came back a moment later with a fresh glass filled with gin, dry vermouth, and olives. Hermione's fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass and her other hand played with the toothpick and olive. Removing the olive, she chugged down the martini in one go. "That's not very healthy you know," a masculine voice said from her left.

"Do I look like I give a damn?" Hermione retorted not looking up.

"No, not really. You wanna talk about it?"

"Do I want to talk about what?"

"The reason you've downed four martinis in the last hour."

"Why would I want to tell a stranger…" Hermione broke off as she looked up to see a familiar pair of grey eyes behind platinum blond bangs looking at her.

"We're not exactly strangers," Draco Malfoy said folding his hands on the bar.

Hermione frowned, "Why would I want to tell you about my problems?"

"Because you have no one else to tell," he said not breaking eye contact with her.

"Why would you think that?"

"Why else would you be here at a bar, by yourself, if you didn't have someone to go to with your problems?" he answered her question with a question.

Hermione's frown deepened. "What are you doing Draco?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you talking to me?"

"You look like you need someone to talk to," he shrugged.  
"Yeah, but considering our history, why are you talking to me?"

"Hermione, it's been seven years since the end of the war. I've had some time to think about things and believe it or not, I realize how much of an asshole I was in school. Kids can be cruel and I was. It doesn't mean I can't change."

Hermione ducked her head, embarrassed that she hadn't considered he might have changed. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little… "

"Drunk?" he supplied helpfully.

"Besides that! I just broke up with Ron."

"What? You finally dumped the Weasel?"

Hermione glared at him. "Sorry! It appears cruelty follows us into adulthood as well," Draco said looking down at his hands. "So why did you break up? If you don't mind me asking."

Hermione looked down at her empty glass. It seemed Draco had changed for the better. The fact that he would apologize to her was something indeed. "We had the same fight we've been having for a long time. This time had a different outcome," Hermione paused. "He's just so stubborn! He refuses to believe that he could ever be wrong!"

"It's a common trait in the male half of the species," Draco admitted smirking slightly.

"Well, I just couldn't stand it anymore. I told him that if he wasn't even going to consider my side of things, then he could say goodbye and I wasn't going to come back."

"So…"  
Hermione suddenly burst into tears. "He – he just glared at me and said goodbye. Then he turned and walked out of the room," Hermione was clutching herself tightly and gasping for breath between racking sobs.

Draco, unsure of how to comfort her, put a hesitant hand on her shoulder. Hermione trembled with each shuddering breath. "I'm sorry, I just… it just happened a few days ago."

"What about Potter? You, him, and the little Weaslette were always bosom buddies."

"Harry and Ginny are on holiday out of country." Hermione explained, ignoring the jibe at the youngest Weasley.

"Oh… well, do you have a place to stay for the night?"

"Yes, I rented a room here at The Leaky Cauldron."

"Let me walk you to your room. I think a good night's sleep would help you immensely," Draco said standing and leaving some sickles on the counter to cover her tab.

He pulled on Hermione's arm and she allowed him to steer her up the stairs to the rooms for rent. "Which one's yours?"

"D4."

Draco led her to room D4 then pulled back. "Here you are."

Hermione sniffled, "Thanks."

Draco's hand went to the back of his neck. "I'm staying in C2 for the week. Business in town. If you… umm… if you need someone to talk to."

"Thanks Draco, I'll call if I need you," Hermione muttered through her tear streaked face then opened the door to her room and went inside.

Draco let out a breath of air he hadn't realized he'd held in and dropped his hand to his side. Maybe I need my head checked, he thought to himself. He hadn't meant to talk to Granger at all, but after seeing her sitting alone gulping down martini after martini, he couldn't help himself. The brunette just looked so depressed.

Draco started walking to his room. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he'd had business in town. He was checking up on past patients in the city. After the war, he'd had a hard time trying to get back into society. Being the son of a Death Eater and being labeled a Death Eater himself didn't help. The Ministry had held an outreach program to people like him. After attending sessions for a year and a half, he'd realized that it wasn't just people like him who needed help. There were hundreds of survivors who were traumatized and just needed someone to talk to. Draco learned that he was quite good at listening.

As part of the Ministry Outreach Program, he spent two years helping victims of the war, listening to their stories, helping rebuild homes, and helping to rebuild confidence. After he'd graduated from the program, Draco decided he liked helping people. He became a professional councilor and listened to people who just needed someone to talk to. He gave advice and helped people to move on with their lives. Seven years of working with people in pain, both emotional and physical, had taught Draco to spot the ones who really needed his help. Hermione had fit the bill tonight and he hadn't been able to stop himself from trying to talk to her.

Draco reached his room just then and entered it, thinking about how to help Granger. She was going to need more than a few martinis and a short talk with an old school nemesis. He scoffed at the pronoun he'd used for himself. Nemesis was a bit dramatic, but considering how he'd treated her back in school, the word did work. She wouldn't want his help, and would be loath to admit it, but she needed it. It was apparent that he'd just picked up a new client whether he wanted her or not. His conscience wouldn't allow him to just let her go.

The blond man shook his head as he loosened his tie and prepared to retire for the night. Tomorrow would be an interesting day.


End file.
